


Lanterns

by MicahLegion



Category: Campaign (Podcast), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: "Your Name" AU, Angst, Body-swap, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Miscommunication, That's Not How The Force Works, buckle up buddies this one's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11118516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicahLegion/pseuds/MicahLegion
Summary: This must be a nightmare. He's missed a dose of lesai and he's crashed hard. That's the only thing that makes sense. Bacta keeps staring in the mirror, but it's Sian's face staring back.-Sian touches a hand to her face - to Bacta's face, really - and really looks. It looks nearly a decade older than she's ever known it. There's still a handsomeness to it, but there are worry lines starting to make their presence known. The eyes aren't as bright as she recalls.-(aka, the Your Name AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> de-anoning from the kink meme to deliver unto the Campaign fandom a piece that was a thrill to write & a joy to hear responses on. The title is actually drawn from "Yumetōrō"(Dream Lanterns), from the soundtrack for "Your Name", though you don't have to have seen the film to understand this fic.
> 
> I mean you should see it anyway, because it's an amazing film.
> 
> Extra thanks to prompter for this one (bless you), for posting a prompt that got me off my butt and writing again. I'm only slightly sorry I was so mean to our fave soft sad clone buddy

Bacta wakes up, which, later, he thinks should have been his first clue that something wasn't right.

 

He wakes in a small bed, in quarters that are almost familiar to him. The sheets are as as plain as the walls, and there is a small set of items on an end-table. There's a soft, distant sound of falling rain, and it is quiet. He is warm, and comfortable, and half-awake for a long, blissful moment.

 

Ironically, it's the quiet that jolts him to attention. The Mynock is never in any terms quiet, not with the way they collect crew members and pets (however inadvertently). The closest it ever gets is in the small hours of the mornings, when Lyn decides to turn in, and Bacta's left with the soft hum of the ship's engines as they slide through hyperspace.

 

(It's also usually the time he applies the lesai. He doesn't want Tamlin to see this, or to ask. Bacta knows this is more for himself than for the boy; Tamlin is smart and kind and he will figure out what's going on sooner rather than later; but if he can preserve any bit of childhood or innocence for his child, he will.)

 

He bolts upright in the bed, and what feels like hair falls forward, brushing past his cheeks. It's long and white. Almost instinctually, he brings a hand to run over his head and sees orange, downy fur covering his arms and hands.

 

Bacta casts a glance around, seeking out a mirror. He is confused, and fear is prickling at the back of his neck. He sees the door for a fresher, and untangles his limbs from the sheets, trying to recall if he'd been poisoned somehow. He runs through every scenario, some of them twice. Did Leenik undercook a ham? (no, Leenik's a much better cook than that) Did Tryst get them in some kind of extra trouble because he couldn't keep it in his pants? Was this Aava's doing?

 

He's not sure, but the weight of a fever dream is heavy on him. He can almost hear that awful voice cawing about how _good soldiers follow orders_. It threatens to ring in his ears, like a sick, sad promise.

 

The fresher, like the rest of this room, is plain but comfortable. The mirror takes up the entire portion of wall above the sink basin, and Bacta's heart nearly stops when he finally sees what's in the mirror.

 

It is a face he'd taken to doping himself out of sleep to avoid seeing again.

 

(Before the leesai, when he'd still been newly alone, he'd stayed awake for a week straight. The nightmares that came when he finally found a safe place to sleep left him retching on a dirty floor until his throat bled. He didn't sleep after that, if he could help it.)

 

A face that he thought he could see in the small screen of Rendezvous's communicator.

 

Bacta's heart drops out of his chest, and tears come, unbidden.

 

He looks in the mirror, and Sian Jiesel looks back.

 

\---

 

For a long moment, all that Sian can hear is voices. She tries to move her arms, to open her eyes, but there's no response. She isn't sure what knocked her for this much of a loop, but she'll figure her way out of it.

 

If it was some of the young Clone cadets playing a prank during her meditation, she was going to have to have a serious talk with their proctors.

 

_"-cta??! Wake up, wake up, please! Uncle Lyn, h--h--not moving!"_

 

This voice is small and high, and as the sensations return to her, Sian feels a distinct weight at her side. It rests against her, draped over the left side of her chest.

 

_"I can see that, Tamlin. I know this is scary, but I need you to stay calm so we can help, ok?"_

 

This voice is accented, and definitely an adult's. It sounds almost Twi'lek, but Sian isn't entirely sure. The smaller, child-like voice is all sniffling and hitched breaths.

 _"Ok. Ok, I can do that,"_ it says, unsteady.

 

 _"Good. First thing - check for breathing, ok?"_ the adult instructs, and Sian hears shuffling footsteps move closer. Sian still can't quite move, so she concentrates on taking a deep breath.

 

And feels her chest rise, and fall. The small voice wavers still, but confirms breathing back to the adult voice. Then, all in a rush, feeling pours back into Sian's limbs. It leaves a great aching pain in her back, right between the shoulder blades, as well as her right wrist.

 

She tries not to let her return to consciousness show immediately, trying to give herself the advantage, should she have to fight. Instead, she takes another steadying breath and reaches out with the Force.

 

Nothing happens, and she curses silently. Sian can't feel any bonds at her wrists, nor her ankles, but that doesn't mean they're not there. It takes only a moment for her to adjust her game plan to escape. As she can't do much lying here, feigning sleep, so she lets her eyes drift open. Her head is still swimming, and there's something on the edge of her perception that she can't seem to hold in her brain.

 

The light shining overhead is so bright. The ache creeping up her back into her skull rockets up her spine and she winces. A groan escapes, and distantly she's aware that it sounds ...different.

 

When she can force open her eyes again, she sees relief bloom on two very unfamiliar faces. The adult - definitely Twi'lek, though the lekku are shorter than Sian's ever seen - smiles a soft smile. Her skin is a sandy sort of orange.

 

"See, Tamlin," she says, "Told you."

 

Tamlin - the child, who she belatedly realizes was the weight against her chest - takes in several deep, shaky breaths. He's Zabrak, and round cheeked, with the starkest white skin Sian's seen on any young child. Black tattoos decorate his skin, and the nubs of horns dot his scalp. His eyes - a soft violet, quiver with tears. He is trying to smile, but his lower lip wobbles dangerously.

 

Without warning, Tamlin buries his face into Sian's chest. His breath comes in great hiccuping sobs, and his chubby fingers clutch at her shirt. If there are words there, Sian can't hear them. She notices, distantly, that something is different, but her mind can't settle on it. Her ears are ringing insistently.

 

"Tamlin, come on, let him sit up," says the Twi'lek - who must be Lyn, Sian surmises.

 

Tamlin pulls away, wiping at his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. He extends a hand to help pull Sian to a sitting position, which she accepts. Out of habit, she draws up her knees and rests her elbows on them, and this is what gives her pause.

 

The skin on the hands she sees in front of her is dark, and the hands are wide. The downy orange fuzz that she is used to is nowhere to be seen. Further up the arm, above the wrists, are strings of letters and numbers. They are impressed deep into the skin in a dark, simple black.

 

Sian has possibly never been more confused in her life. She scrambles to her feet, and swoons unsteady for a moment. She hears Lyn call out something, and Tamlin's high, worried cry, but she's desperate for a fresher. Visuals on whatever is happening will be helpful.

 

She isn't on Kamino, this much she can ascertain. She may be dreaming - sometimes the Force grants people visions. She's never had one, so she has no basis for what to expect. The pain in her back, in her wrist, and the ringing in her ears certainly feels too real for dreaming.

 

Her balance seems thrown, because she shoulder-checks the wall several times on her search for a fresher. She pushes past a tired looking green Rodian, who has an arm slung around a battered looking blonde Human.

 

The Rodian looks slightly bruised, and the human's nose is broken and bloodied. They both startle at her sudden appearance, but Sian's not paying attention. Her mind is still swimming and her ears are ringing. The human calls after her, but she doesn't hear it.

 

The fresher isn't very big, and it seems like it's seen better days, but it'll do, she decides.

 

Sian stumbles in and wrenches the tap on. Water pools in the basin, and she splashes it up into her face with her good hand before she can bring herself to look up into the mirror.

 

Her heart clenches in her chest. The face staring back at her belongs to the man who has stood by her side for what has felt like ages, who follows in her step and makes sure she's eaten and rested. The man whose signature in the Force is enveloped in a soft, warm love that swells when he sees her.

 

(Bacta is so full of love he nearly bursts with it, and that warm sweet ache flares from him when he is in step beside her. He thinks she does not know how he feels about her. He is wrong.)

 

The face is older than she knows it, and a rough scar curves around the top of the scalp. It is healed, but it makes her heart hurt to see it.

 

Sian Jiesel looks in the mirror, and Bacta stares back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a vague gender dysphoria mention in this chapter.

* * *

 

Her head hurts. Sian can feel her vision swimming, like she's had too much of the swill that the Shinies shipping out had passed around that night a week ago when she'd arrived on Kamino.

 

_("Shinies?" she remembers asking one day, a long time ago. They were on their way to a skirmish, and prepping for a fight. She'd never heard the term before, as she'd preferred to stay far from the Republic's war for much of her career. Bacta had shrugged._

 

_"The armor. It's new, and like those brothers, never seen a real fight. Sometimes it takes 'em a bit to really settle into what's expected of 'em," he explained, cleaning & reassembling his blasters without looking._

 

_"Huh," she'd remarked, "That's cute."_

 

_Sian had smiled, and Bacta smiled back. The warm, soft glow of his affection had prickled along the edges of her perception. It felt...nice. Comfortable.)_

 

The Force is still elluding her, no matter how hard she tries to concentrate. She turns the tap off and tries to breathe.

 

With each breath, she tries to center herself, staring into the mirror. It's difficult, and in a moment of panic, she wrestles the shirt from her torso. Her injured wrist sings out in pain, and Sian bites down a curse. She has to stay calm. If she passes out, she's not sure what will happen. She has to consider things pragmatically.

 

Which brings her back to the problem of the energy binder. She does a slow inventory of the state of herself - well, of Bacta's person. Nothing around the wrists, nothing around the ankles. There's a broken grease pencil in the pocket of the trousers, which she discovers upon a quick pat-down. She shoves it back into the pocket. No binders.

This doesn't seem to make any sense.

 

As her head begins to clear and her vision steadies, Sian can see the lettering of the tattoos more clearly. There are a few obscured by a small black box that's affixed to the skin on one arm, but when Sian goes to try to remove it, it does not budge. She turns her attention back to the tattoos.

 

She knows some of those numbers, and the names attached to them. They were good men who fell, and Bacta felt the loss of each of his brothers keenly. His sorrow each time is a cold weight around his shoulders that he can't seem to shake fully.

 

The tattoos fill Bacta's skin like a sleeve, and Sian's heart aches. If this is a vision, what is meant by showing her this; her friend, bearing a mantle of sorrow and pain, accepting every death as his fault? What is she meant to learn from this?

 

Ink seems to have been pressed into Bacta's skin on the chest, too, and when she looks down, Sian can't seem to make sense of the image. Distantly, she's aware of a dissonance, seeing a broad, muscular chest that she is unused to.

 

It makes her brain squirm slightly but very uncomfortably, so she focuses back on the ink tattooed into Bacta's skin. There's Trooper numbers in a halo, and someone posed serenely, holding a lightsaber. She looks up into the mirror again, and realizes what it's meant to be. It's her. Eyes closed, sitting in a meditative stance. It's beautiful, but it doesn't make sense.

 

"What is this? What am I supposed to learn from this? What's happened?" she asks, mostly to herself. She hears the voice issue from her throat. It is deeper than her own, but there's no trace of the trademark Clone Accent.

 

She touches a hand to her face - to Bacta's face, really - and really looks. It looks nearly a decade older than she's ever known it. There's still a handsomeness to it, but there are worry lines starting to make their presence known. The eyes aren't as bright as she recalls.

 

"What happened, Bacta?" she asks aloud again. The ache creeps back into her skull, behind her eyes, and she swoons in place. She reaches out both hands to steady herself on the basin, and yells when she jostles her likely-broken wrist again.

 

The pounding on the door of the fresher startles her, and she hip-checks the basin as she goes to turn. She swears as quietly as she can.

"Bacta? Buddy? You ok in there? Lyn said you came to and kinda...bolted," comes a voice from beyond the door. It's loud, masculine, and a little brash, but there's a note of worry in it. There's a slightly nasal quality to it, like the speaker is congested.

 

"I mean if this is some weird clone thing, I get it, but the kid is scared. Also, definitely broke my nose getting away from those guys so....," there's several noises that sound like the person is clucking their tongue.

 

"Well maybe if you hadn't put your face in the way," another voice mumbles. It's softer, but still masculine. Sian hears a huff, a slightly nasal "ow, son of a kriffing nerf herder" that sounds like the first speaker, who then responds.

 

"Leenik? seriously? Not now, bud."

 

Sian holds her right wrist gently in her left hand, and looks towards the door. Whatever this is - this dream or this vision - the only way out seems to be through. She musters up the memory of her last conversation with Bacta (younglings coming in to tour the Clone facility, memories of his cadet days, and so forth).

 

She practices a few words, trying to affect the accent. Sian is as quiet as she can be, but there's a knocking on the door again.

 

"Bacta, seriously, get out of there," the first voice says, "if you're kriffed up, the rest of us are screwed."

 

Sian takes a deep breath, and pushes a button. The door to the fresher slides open with a "whoosh".

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

This must be a nightmare. He's missed a dose of lesai and he's crashed hard. That's the only thing that makes sense. Bacta keeps staring in the mirror, Sian's face staring back.

 

He's still crying, and the tears look odd on Sian's face. She was not an unsympathetic person, but she tended more towards practical. Every inch a devout Jedi. He knows she felt more deeply than she let on, but expressing those feelings was another story. He'd heard stories from other Troopers, about how she and her compatriots had stayed away from the fight for so long. All these years later, he wished she'd kept away entirely.

 

At least then, for sure, she'd still be alive. She would have never known him, but she would never had been in danger.

 

Bacta scrubs at his face with his hands, and tries to breathe. His stomach is in knots and he feels very ill. He tries to will himself to consciousness. Seeing her face is a cruelty he almost can't bear. The panic welling in his throat and buzzing in his head nearly drowns out the soft chime of the door.

 

"Master Jeisel?" a voice not unlike his own pipes into the room. It's slightly tinny and filtered. Bacta pushes away from the sink basin, and moves slowly back towards the bed. As he moves, he assesses. Whatever this nightmare is, Sian's dressed fairly simply. It could pass for daywear.

 

(In a flash of a moment, he considers that he may have to change clothing and blanches considerably. Real or no, he won't violate Sian's privacy like that.)

 

Shoes are by the door, and her effects are gathered on the night table. There's a belt, a small pouch, several ration packs, and a lightsaber that Bacta knows oh so very well. He affixes the belt around his waist (Sian's waist, really) and grabs the lightsaber from the table. There's a brief moment where he holds it, and his heart aches.

 

This is why I don't sleep, he reminds himself, nothing good comes of it.

 

The door chimes again, and again the voice. Bacta nearly drops the lightsaber, but fumbles it onto the bed instead.

 

"Master Jeisel? Are you alright, ma'am? The morning briefing is starting shortly, and you're usually quite punctual."

 

"One moment," Bacta responds, trying to force his accent away as to not arouse suspicion. It's mostly successful. It's still odd, hearing her voice again, let alone with his own accent.

 

(He tries to ignore how his heart lurches in his chest at the sound of her voice. Even if he's the one speaking.)

 

He takes a deep breath, and lets it all out in huff. If the only way out of this nightmare is through it, then he will trudge through, he decides.

 

The room isn't terribly big, and it only takes few strides to reach the door. Bacta hurriedly pulls the boots on. The door slides open with a whir, revealing a familiar face. Involuntarily, Bacta feels his jaw clench. Anger settles in his bones. His heart is still hammering in his chest, and his stomach is still uneasy.

 

"Sy---Commander Synox," he bites out, "good morning."

 

Synox snaps off a clean salute, like he has always done. Like he will continue to do, when this war is over and the Empire uses him as a dress up doll for propos. Here, he is unblemished, and looking just as Bacta remembers.

 

"Ma'am," he says, either unaware of the bitterness in the greeting, or unwilling to address it, "good morning. I figured that you would wish to be at the briefing meeting this morning," and here Synox pauses and gives 'Sian' a clinical look, " You don't seem -- are you well? Do you require medical attention? I can send Lieutenant Bacta if you need a med-,"

 

"No!" Bacta interjects, perhaps louder than intended. Synox raises an eyebrow, a rough arch over his eye (his left, Bacta notices - the one a blaster shot scorched from his skull that horrible day on Kamino that doesn't seem to have happened).

 

Something, maybe fear, maybe years of hearing Leenik reading trope-filled romance novels, makes him think that meeting himself would be a poor choice. Memories of the vornskyr-induced fever dream surface in his brain - his own face on every trooper he'd killed - and he swallows down bile.

 

"I mean, well, I am fine. Perhaps a bit under the weather, but well enough to attend the briefing," Bacta explains.

 

To punctuate this, Bacta takes several steps forward into the hallway. Perhaps twenty feet from Synox, the world spins, and Bacta is forced to take a knee to keep from fainting. He hears the clatter of Synox's footsteps rushing towards him.

 

"Ma'am! You need to get to the med bay, ASAP," he says. His face is full of concern, his tone worried. Synox goes to loop his arm around, to help 'Sian' stand up again, but Bacta slaps his hand away.

 

"I can manage, I'll be fine," he says. It takes leaning heavy against the wall, but Bacta stumbles to his feet. Synox's brow furrows.

 

"Ma'am. You need to be seen by a medic. You're not well."

 

And Bacta feels the worry. It weaves through the air and shimmers off Synox like desert heat. It prickles at the back of Bacta's neck and makes him shudder. The hallway suddenly feels very small, and Bacta is finding it hard to breathe. Everything is beginning to overwhelm Bacta's senses, and he has to lean into the wall again.

 

Without ceremony, Synox scoops up 'Sian', cradling the smaller form gently in his arms. Synox sets off down the hallway, towards the med bay area.

 

"Put me down," Bacta bites out, "I just need to rest."

 

"Respectfully, ma'am, you need a doctor."

 

"Then let me walk to the med bay!"

 

"Again, ma'am, respectfully, I don't think you can make it in your condition."

 

The room keeps spinning, and Bacta's vision swims. The forward movement towards the med bay combined with the soft hush of rain against the walls isn't helping. The world starts going dark.

 

Absently, Bacta wonders aloud, "are we on Kamino?"

 

Then, everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in which the entire chapter focuses on Sian)

The door slides open, and standing before Sian is a young Human man and a young Rodian The same two, she realizes, that she pushed past earlier.

 

The Human is leaning against the wall opposite the door frame, arms crossed. Blood is smeared down his face from one nostril and across his chin. His nose is lacerated and badly out of joint, to the point where the sight of it makes Sian wince. The Rodian is standing off to the side, quietly fidgeting with what appears to be a robotic hand. He looks up at the sound of the door opening, and nudges the Human. The Human pushes off the wall.

 

"Finally," he breathes, and Sian watches him wince at the pain that the rush of air through his nostrils causes. He reaches out to rest a hand on 'Bacta's shoulder, and Sian instinctively pulls away. The Human raises an eyebrow, but draws his hand back.

 

"Whatever's going on up there," the Human gestures to Sian's head, "we need you out here. My nose is broken - "

 

"I said I was sorry! You were too close!" the Rodian blurts.

 

"Your stupid hand was too close to where my face was working!" the Human responds. The Rodian throws up his hands.

 

"That doesn't make any sense! Like, at all, Tryst!"

 

"Leenik, I...,"

 

They almost seem primed to launch into an argument, so Sian clears her throat. Both men look at her.

 

"I'm fine, just...bad night."

 

The accent feels odd, like it batters its way out of her mouth. It sounds wrong to her. If the two men in front of her think similarly, she can't tell. She watches the Human straighten up and shrug.

 

"Yeah, you and us both, man," he mutters, and runs a hand through his blonde hair.

 

"You scared Tony," the Rodian (Leenik, Sian tries to remember) mutters, "and you scared Tamlin."

 

"Didn't mean to," she's trying to keep her words short. There's less of a chance of someone figuring out she's not Bacta, and she'd rather not risk having to explain a situation she's not even sure is real.

 

"Well, put your shirt back on and come on. We're safe now - Lyn's got us on a course somewhere safer than here - and I need patching up. Oh, and so does Leenik," Tryst throws over her shoulder as he turns and heads towards the front of the ship. Sian dips back into the fresher to grab the shirt, and awkwardly pulls it over her shoulders with one hand.

 

Leenik lets Sian follow after Tryst, and trails at Sian's heels. She glances back, once or twice. Leenik's looking past them, eyes focused on the path ahead of them. They seem like they're full of stars.

 

When they return to watch Sian can only assume is the common area, there are medical texts splayed out on a kitchen table. The covers have been wrapped in romance novel dust-jackets (for what purpose, Sian cannot surmise), and Lyn is poring over them. Tamlin sits in the corner of the diner-like booth, staring intently at a text that he most assuredly cannot understand most of. They both look up at Sian's return.

 

"Uncle Bacta!" Tamlin calls. He clambers over the back of the booth, despite concerned yelling from Lyn & Tryst, and dashes over to Sian. He crashes into her legs, squeezing them in a hug.

 

"You scared me," he says, almost too quiet to hear, "I thought you were really gone."

 

"I'm sorry," Sian manages. Tamlin pulls his head back to look at his 'Uncle Bacta', and really looks up. His face holds an emotion that Sian can not seem to read. He looks over at Tryst and whatever thoughts were gathering immediately are dispelled with an, "ahhhhh! Uncle Tryst! Your face!"

 

Lyn stops Tamlin from running across the room to Tryst, and ushers him instead to go 'sit with the lizards, then bed'. Sian can't quite find it in herself to ask, but wishes she could.

 

She looks back at Sian-in-Bacta's-body, and taps a book on the table.

 

"Look, Bacta? I know some basic field first aid, but fractures are a different story," she says, "I can try to help you set your wrist, but you need to either talk me through how to set Tryst's nose, or do it one handed. You're best at this."

 

"Since when?" Leenik quips with derision, eyes bright. Sian shoots him a withering look.

 

_(Bacta is a good medic, but more than that he is a compassionate man. Every man that falls while under his supervision? He carries their dogtags back home, every time. She's never seen his skills fail when it really mattered._

 

_He'd started these sleeves of names right out of training, and when he came to serve under newly minted General Jiesel, the list was fairly short. At the beginning, she paid no mind to it. When they really lost for the first time in her military career, Bacta had come back from the barracks one morning with a bandage that wrapped from mid-bicep to mid-forearm._

 

_It was the only way he was really permitted to grieve, she realized, the only way to not forget. His brothers always with him, in every speck of ink that had been pressed into his skin._

 

_She tries not to think too hard about what a cruelty this is.)_

 

Leenik shrinks, but only slightly. Sian looks at Lyn, and then at Tryst. Talking more may give her away, which is the last thing she wants. She'd managed to reset a dislocation before, when one of her men had taken a rough tumble mid-battle. This isn't the same, she knows, but the principles are.

 

"I'll fix his nose. C'mere," Sian says. Tryst seems to hesitate for a moment. He tries to play off the urgency his injury really does require.

 

 

"I mean, it's not like it needs to be addressed right now," he says, obviously lying, I've broken my nose plenty of times, I -"

 

"Tryst, it's so badly out of joint that looking at you? Looking at you kind of makes me want to throw up. We won't be near any sort of heavily populated area, by which I mean, with a hospital or any kind of medical personel, for a while. This needs to happen now."

 

Tryst groans and steps forward. Sian takes a deep breath, and spreads her left hand wide. The Human shudders a bit at the touch of 'Bacta's hand to his bruised and swollen nose. He begins to say something, but Sian lifts both hands. With an audible 'snap', the bridge of Tryst's nose looks far more aligned.

 

There is a loud yell from Tryst, but it is brief. Sian drops her hands to her sides, her injured wrist throbbing in pain. Her head is pounding. Lyn's face is frozen in a look of horror for a moment. She comes out of this shock a few moments later, and grabs for Sian's arm.

 

"What are you doing?" she says as she gingerly takes the injured wrist. Sian's thoughts can't focus, and anxiety is tinging the edge of her thoughts. The others notice how taciturn their friend has become, and try to encourage conversation, to no avail. Lyn splints and wraps Sian's wrist to immobilize it.

 

The night drifts past in a strange haze, as if half-remembered. While Lyn seems concerned about Bacta's change in temperament, they are in the middle of hyperspace. Any chance of seeking help for Bacta would have to wait until they reached safety.

 

At some point, Leenik goes off to put Tamlin and Tony to bed, and Tryst retires to his bunk. Lyn sits and works on her journals in silence. Occasionally, she will look up, as if to make sure her friend is ok. Sian finds herself staring off into space, trying to find some kind of clue.

 

Eventually, Lyn too needs to sleep. She offers to help 'Bacta' up into the gunnery, but Sian declines. She's exhausted, but hovering on the edge of insomnia. Being up in the gunnery may provide more clues ; it might make her wake up from this strange vision.

 

It takes using a kitchen stool and a well-aimed jump, but Sian clambers up into the gunnery. She settles in and watches the stars streak by. The gentle hum of the engines is all she hears.

 

After a moment, she scans the small area, trying to find clues in the layout of the console, in the blinking of the lights. This proves fruitless, and she draws her knees to her chest. As she does so, the movement jostles something loose from its perch. Sian reaches out with her left hand and scoops it up. Out of habit, she goes to return it to its place, but pauses.

 

Instead, she brings the container closer to where she can see, and her heart hits her throat. This doesn't make sense. What could drive her comrade to rely on a Spice that kept you from sleep?

  
Sian sags against the seat, then leans forward, head in hands. She is so tired, suddenly. Her eyelids grow heavy, and she slips into sleep for what seems like a moment.

 

When Sian wakes up, she's not in her bed. She's curled up on a cot in the medical ward, covered by blankets that are slightly too thin. Her stirring draws the attention of a medical droid.

 

"Are you feeling better, ma'am?" they ask as they glide across the floor. The voice has a Kaminoan lilt to it, and is almost soothing. Sian pushes off the blankets and sits up properly. Her head hurts a little, like she hasn't been sleeping well.

 

"Better?" she asks, "I suppose. When did I get to the med bay?"

  
"You were brought here by CC-1812. You were unconscious and running a slight fever. It seemed to be fine, but CC-1812 stated that you lost consciousness. We thought it best for you to stay for observation."

 

"Uh-huh," Sian replies, "well, I feel fine now. I assume I am permitted to leave?"

 

The droid lifts a hand and scans Sian. There's a few soft beeps before they speak again.

 

"No elevated temperature detected. Blood pressure normal. You may go. Your belongings are on the table next to you."

 

Sian hops off the cot and gathers her things. Questions are forming in the back of her mind, but she remembers speaking to Commander Synox at some point recently. She also is still puzzling over her dream.

 

She can't seem to suss out why she'd dream of Bacta. Of Bacta, presumably years after today, still bearing a heavy mantle of pain and crowned with guilt.

 

She'll have to meditate on it later. She checks her communicator and finds she has missed the scheduled briefing. Sian bites back a mild curse and makes a note to seek out Commander Synox. Perhaps he can fill her in.

 

As she walks through the routine of her day, she checks in with the Clone proctors, to ensure everything is ready for the upcoming tour.

 

After all, the younglings may be working alongside Troopers when they are of age. Best to know how the Clones come up in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In which realizations are made)

* * *

 

Bacta stirs in the gunnery of the Mynock. His head still aches near the base of his neck. He reaches his right hand up to rub at his nape, but pulls it back at the sensation of a rough bandage on his skin.

 

"What the kriff," he mutters quietly, staring at his wrist. He doesn't recall any kind of injury, nor splinting one. Panic starts to rise in his throat. The only noise he hears is the hum of the engines as they keep drifting through space.

 

"Nodding off and memory loss," he notes mentally, "new batch is probably cut with something. Karabast."

 

He reaches to where his lesai tin usually sits, and opens it. It's from the batch they'd picked up ages ago. In a practiced motion, he scoops a bit of the paste from the tin and applies it to the back of his neck. It takes a moment, but he feels the familiar thrum of the spice through his veins. In one smooth motion, he puts the tin back in its hiding spot, and relaxes back into his seat.

 

He'll wait until the others are awake to ask more questions (and probably pitch that lesai at the next port they reach). For now, he'll stay vigilant. He puzzles over the hazy dream that lingers in his mind. His heart hurts a deep and empty hurt, and he's not quite sure why.

 

When the others wake, it seems like business as usual. Lyn wakes first, and offers to help make breakfast. Bacta is grateful - he can do it on his own, but he won't turn down an offer. He hovers over her shoulder, making sure she doesn't undercook or burn anything.

 

It's only after a particularly withering glance from Lyn that he backs off. Instead, he starts the caf brewing. He fixes himself a mug before settling into the booth.

 

"You feeling better?" Lyn asks, stirring the eggs in the pan.

 

"Better?"

 

"You fell from the gunnery and passed out. When you woke up, you were acting...you were quieter than normal," she explains. Her eyes are still fixed on the stove top.

 

A fall _would_ explain the damage. And the memory loss. He made a mental note to check himself for concussion symptoms when he had the chance.

 

"Ah. Yeah, much better."

 

"Good," Lyn says. The caf machine dings, and Bacta fixes Lyn her own mug. The others wake in their own time; Leenik and Tony traipse in fairly early. Leenik still seems to be trying (and failing) and training Tony how to behave.

 

Tamlin shuffles in a bit later. He actually yawns as he enters the common area, eyes still heavy with sleep. He shuffles past Tony, where he stops to give the vornskyr a gentle pat. He sees Bacta in the booth and clambers up next to him. Tamlin leans heavy into Bacta and yawns again.

 

Bacta loops his uninjured arm around Tamlin.

 

"Good morning, Tamlin. Did you sleep well?"

 

Tamlin nods. He sort of nuzzles against Bacta's side.

 

"I'm glad you're you again, Uncle Bacta," he says. It's oddly cryptic, even for Tamlin. Lyn fixes Bacta with a look.

 

"What does that mean?" she mouths. Tamlin appears to have drifted off to sleep again.

 

"I don't know," Bacta responds, "maybe it's a Force thing?"

 

Tryst thunders into the room, which wakes Tamlin for good. The kitchen devolves into its usual mess, as it is wont to do.

 

Bacta tries to think about his dream, but the details slip through his fingers like sand.

 

\----

 

The dream gets hazier the more that Sian tries to think about it, and by day's end, she's not so sure it wasn't just her mind firing off on idle.

 

She sees Bacta, who is mid-conversation with several younger medics. He looks up at Sian entering the room and smiles. He radiates care. It shimmers around him and envelops the cadets. It feels like cool water. His eyes are bright, and his dark hair is cropped very close to his scalp.

 

She and Bacta talk in the mess hall, and Bacta makes sure to ask her if she's feeling well.

 

"Commander Synox told me you'd passed out. If you need to rest more, you should. I know you didn't strike your head but -"

 

"Bacta," she laughs softly, "really? I'm fine. I think I perhaps pushed myself too hard before we got here. Sometimes you just need a day or so to adjust."

 

He nods, and smiles.

 

Still, she meditates on her dream before turning in for the night.

 

\----

Bacta doesn't quite sleep, but occasionally, he finds himself in a deep state of thought. Some may call it meditating, but for him, meditating is the mindless, repeated tasks he does when the others have gone to sleep.

 

He knows that if he's sustained a concussion, the best thing to do at this point is to sleep it off. He doesn't want to risk sleep, not after the disastrous times he's missed doses of lesai before.

 

But he knows the jedi used to put themselves into trances. He doesn't think he can go that deep for rest, but he can certainly make the effort.

 

\---

It takes several more awkward days of waking in an unfamiliar place, of faded memories and awkward interactions before both Sian and Bacta realize, simultaneously, that this is not a dream.

 

They're not sure what's causing this switch or why, or even who is in their head when they're absent.

 

\---

 **Who are you?** Bacta types into a datapad.

 

 _ **I could ask the same**_ , he finds scrawled in grease pencil on his hand.

 

 ** _Did you do this?_**   Sian scrawls into Bacta's palm.

 

 **This seems like a Force thing, so no** , she finds beneath her own message in the datapad.

 

**_Ha. I've never heard of the Force facilitating something like this._ **

 

**Well, unless someone's invented some sort of machine straight out of a pulp-fiction holo-book, I'm at a loss as to why this keeps happening.**

 

**_That makes two of us._ **

 

**Maybe we can figure this out if we actually introduce ourselves to each other?**

 

**_Fair point. I'm Sian._ **

 

Bacta stares at his palm, heart beating in his chest. The ache is back, deep and hollow. These conversations go achingly slow, and his mind can't seem to settle. He can't even begin to explain.

 

When Sian wakes up, she finds his response.

 

**It's me. It's Bacta.**

 

* * *

 

**_Fair point. I'm Sian._ **

 

Bacta spends much of the day trying to cycle through what he knows is Sian's routine. It starts to hurt a little less to see her face in the mirror, but only in the slightest of increments. His mind still swims each time he's sitting up in her bed. This morning finds him especially uneasy, as he fumbles almost immediately for the datapad. He sees the stranger's message, with the cursor blinking persistently beneath it.

 

It's her, he lets himself think, just for a moment. It distracts from how some noises are too loud in his ears, and how he can feel a general sense of restlessness.

 

He dismisses the feeling as much as he can for as long as he can, but eventually he finds he must get up and move. It's not an anxiousness, or malaise. He just needs to move.

 

He talks to cadets. He talks to the medical droids, who offer an anti-nausea medication when he complains in their presence. He avoids Synox to the best of his ability. He knows eventually that someone will consider this suspicious, but he can't make himself hold a civil conversation with the man. Being around him makes anger roil in Bacta's heart, and it makes him answer in clipped, short responses. Those, Bacta thinks, may be harder to explain away than just pure avoidance.

 

He walks the halls of Kamino and remembers his cadet days. They seem like an entire lifetime away; Jango Fett's voice in his ear, dodging proctors on late nights, talking about the worlds outside of Kamino, talking about their older brothers out there on the front lines, learning about the Jedi.

 

Nostalgia grips at his heart. He knows all of this is wrong. Right now there is the illusion of freedom, of choice, but Bacta knows better. He knows the warm memories obscure the truth.

 

So he walks on.

 

The moment before he drifts back into sleep, as he leaves the message on Sian's datapad, his stomach lurches terribly. Everything in him casts doubt - this could be a different Sian, this could be someone in another world and in another time.

 

But he recalls her handwriting. It's not elegant - like a lot of things about her, it's practical. It's distinctive. Bacta hopes in the smallest corner of his heart that he's right, and it's her, even though he's not even sure what he could say.

 

What would he say?

 

He knows he's on Kamino when he wakes in her bed, and that Synox still has both eyes. If this is a real thing - whatever this thing between dreaming and reality is - there is a difference of time, he thinks.

 

You could save her, his heart provides. He pushes the thought away. He's never heard of anyone, Force-sensitive or not, being able to walk backward in time. This is some kind of connection, but it's tenuous. Fragile. He's not sure what would break it, or if it even will persist after today.

 

And in any case, how is he supposed to explain that one day, his brothers are going to turn on everyone? That this grand army of Clones, robbed of their own agency, are going to lift their weapons and murder the Jedi?

 

How is he supposed to tell Sian that she's probably going to die, and he's going to live?

 

In the end, he settles for giving his name. It's safe enough and vague enough. He can give that, before he lets his mind run away with a great overwhelming panic. Whatever response he gets will determine how he moves forward.

 

As sleep takes him, he allows himself a small sliver of hope.

 

\---

 

**It's me. It's Bacta.**

 

Sian stares at her datapad, dumbfounded. Her eyes are bleary with sleep. She takes a moment to scrub at her face with her hands, and looks again.

 

"Well," she says, and flops down flat onto the bed again, "well."

 

There is no doubt to who it could be. Sian knows many races have a variety of naming conventions, but naming oneself like this, after a job or a particular quirk is something she's only known Clones to do.

 

The Force has deigned to give her this connection, however tenuous, and it has taken to shifting her mind into Bacta's body. Sian puzzles over this. There's no tradition of this kind of swap that she's ever read. It does lift her heart to learn that she's in capable, friendly hands when her mind is lifted elsewhere.

 

A dozen questions flit across her mind, and for a long moment, she lets the noise clutter and buzz in her head. Then she takes a deep breath, and lets the thoughts drift. Anxiously scrawling questions across Bacta's arms is not going to help either of them.

 

She's at a loss for what to say for the first time in a very long time. A soft knock at her door shakes her from her thoughts. Sian lifts a hand, and the door opens. A medical droid glides in with a tray.

 

"I brought you additional anti-nausea medication, should you require it, ma'am," it says. Sian raises an eyebrow in confusion, but says nothing. The droid hands her the medicine and glides out of the room.

 

Sian stares at the bottle in her hands for a long while before something clicks. When she's in Bacta's body, the Force is unreachable to her. She can't channel it as she normally would.

 

When Bacta is in her body, he could, conceivably, reach into the Force. It's incredibly possible he has no awareness of this, and so he cannot control the input the Force brings in. Sian remembers when she was young, and when she first felt the Force. Everything was loud, everyone's feelings were so loud and too much. It often made her feel ill.

 

"Oh, Bacta," she murmurs softly. Her heart breaks a little more for him. She wants to reassure him that they will figure this out, but she does not want to be untruthful. She wants to rest a hand on his shoulder and let him know how dear he is to her. She needs an empathetic heart by her side, to remind her why they're still fighting.

 

She needs his expertise. She needs his humor to lighten troop morale. She needs a counterpart to the sometimes dour nature of Synox.

 

She needs her friend. She needs answers, too.

 

 ** _Bacta?_** she types, **_As in Lieutenant Bacta? What would take you away from the GAR?_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hope everyone's ready for some sick and quick perspective flips]

* * *

 

Bacta blinks away tears as best he can when he reads Sian's message. Their text conversation begins again in earnest. For both of them, it is achingly slow. Sian sleeps each night, however restless it is.

 

It's more difficult for Bacta, who is still too scared of what going off of lesai would mean. He still feels himself drifting off in the quiet hours of the morning - whatever is making this strange connection happen is also pulling him into dreaming. Sometimes they only spend moments in each other's worlds, but the exchanging of places does not pause.

\----

**I...I honestly couldn't even begin to explain. It's harder to explain than whatever...whatever this is that's happening to us. You're still on Kamino?**

\----

  
Kamino is familiar to Bacta, like an old home. The young cadets are all bright-eyed and excited to see the younglings, though their visit is still about a week off.

 

"We never get to see kids our age!" one of them exclaims. Synox chides the cadet harshly, stating that the boy should remember his duty. Bacta bites back everything he wants to say.

\----

 

_**Yes. There are younglings arriving within the next week or so to tour the cloning facilities.** _

**Younglings? Oh.**

 

\----

 

Sian regards Bacta's message with some trepidation. Is this a clue? There's a whole lot he's not telling her, and she knows he probably has his reasons. Still, she'll continue to press for answers. She needs to know what this is happening.

 

There's a harsh clatter and some cursing from Tryst echoing down the ship to where Sian is sitting. She sighs, and slides down the ladder to the gunnery. She's trying to remember Bacta's mannerisms, but still tries her best to talk as little as possible. She blames it on a concussion, hoping that will distract the crew enough.

 

Tamlin gives her that implacable look again. It makes Sian a little uneasy, like he's looking right into her. Like he sees the Devaronian and not his caretaker.

\----

 

**_Is something wrong? Aside from feeling sick every time you end up here?_ **

 

\----

  
There's another turn where Sian is back in her own body, and they're receiving the final briefing about the visiting children.

 

After the briefing, after they learn which younglings are arriving from Coruscant, the holo-room is nearly empty. 

 

Sian is in the midst of reviewing some information on her datapad when Synox clears his throat.

 

"General? A word?"

 

"Of course, Commander," Sian replies, setting the datapad aside, "Please, speak freely."

 

"Thank you. Ma'am...have I done something to anger you?"

 

"Pardon?"

 

"No offense meant ma'am but several times this past week, I've spoken with you and you've seemed to be quite cross with me. If I have done something to upset you, I profusely apologize. Please let me know what I can do going forward to rectify this."

 

"Oh," Sian replies, and tries to keep the question out of her voice. He must be speaking about the moments where Bacta is in her place. She adds more questions to her mental list.

 

"My apologies, commander. I've not felt entirely well lately, and that can throw me off. If I was terse with you, I apologize. I've never quite been one to adhere to Republic standards, and often I am aware I come across as brash or rude. But you're a model soldier, by all accounts."

 

Synox looks relieved.

 

"Thank you, ma'am."

 

\----

**No. How did you know I was ill?**

 

**_Med Droid gave me anti-nausea meds? I think you might be feeling some kind of empathic feedback. That can happen when you're unused to the Force._ **

 

**Sorry, what?**

 

**_I mean, I could be wrong, but when I'm here, on your ship, I can't exactly use the Force. It only follows that when you're there, you can. Perhaps taking some time to meditate and ground yourself may aid in that._ **

 

\----

  
Bacta comes to, head buzzing with a lingering ache. Sian's words seem to blur on the page before coming into focus.

 

He tries not to think too much about it, but the thought of truly being able to feel the Force lingers in his mind all day. He's not sure how true it is, but neither he nor Sian, or anyone in the history of galaxy, seems to have been through this before.

 

The Kaiburr Crystals inform them of a dead-drop on a planet they've never heard of. The job is simple - get the supplies, and transport them to another dead-drop. It's easy, only minimally dangerous, and they'll pay decent enough.

 

Bacta wonders how he is supposed to explain this to Sian, when he can't even figure out how to parse to her that the Republic is going to shatter.

 

Zara inquires about Bacta's silence, and the injured wrist. He shrugs and gives a sheepish smile.

 

"Bad fall."

 

"Oh, dear," she jibes, her tone teasing, "Are you already getting up in years? Should I ask someone else to ---"

 

Tryst jumps from his seat.

 

"No! No. We've got it. We'll take care of it, Princess. Thanks!"

 

The holo flickers off, and Tryst gives Bacta a long look.

 

"What is with you, man? Are you just having a really bad week?"

 

"Something like that," Bacta mumbles.

\----

 

**Oh. Well. Thank you.**

 

\----

Often, when Sian opens her eyes to see the Mynock, the ship is quiet. Sometimes she'll stay in the gunnery, looking for clues about what's transpired in however many years are between them.

 

Sometimes she leaves the gunnery and tries to learn more about what Bacta won't tell her. There are stories in the layout of the kitchen area; several locked drawers, a wall full of charts marked with stickers, and hastily scribbled notes on flimsi. A lot of space roosters.

 

There's a warmth to the ship that Sian can almost feel here. It feels like someone's home. It's only when she catches glimpses of her reflection that she feels unwelcome.

 

She trusts Bacta is trying to look out for her, but she needs to know more.

 

There is one night where Sian finds herself in the kitchen area, puzzling over what in the world a 'burn ball' could be, when a soft rustling noise draws her attention.

 

The small Zabrak boy pads into the kitchen in socked feet. Sian watches as he makes his way to the refrigertion unit and pulls out a small box of juice. He notices Sian, after a fashion, and looks over sleepily.

 

"Couldn't sleep?" Sian offers. Tamlin shakes his head in affirmation. Sian wants to say something, wants to offer him support as she would the younglings who she'd tutored before.

 

But she's not sure if that's how Bacta is with this boy. He is clearly very affectionate, because Tamlin's first action after Sian came to was to seek physical contact with him.

 

"D'ya wanna talk about it?" she asks instead. Tamlin seems to contemplate this for a moment, but then he shakes his head no.

 

"I think I was just thirsty, that's all."

 

Sian watches Tamlin leave, only a touch unsettled. She'd known Zabrak before, but none as distinctive as Tamlin. She thinks, briefly, of rumors she's heard about Dathomir.

 

\----

 

**_Bacta, if this keeps happening, I need to either explain to your shipmates what is happening, or I need more information. Why is there a Zabrak child on your ship? Is he there of his own free will?_ **

 

**Of course he is! I...I knew his mother. She was a dear friend. She's...she's no longer with us. There's not a single soul on the Mynock that doesn't want to be there.**

 

\----

 

Tamlin keeps staring at Bacta, like he expects something different. As another planning meeting comes to a close, the Zabrak boy huffs loudly.

 

"What's up, buddy?" Bacta asks. He sets the clipboard down on the dining room table. The others have cleared out of the common area; Lyn to her spot in the cockpit, Tryst back to his bunk and Leenik off to...wherever Tony had disappeared to.

 

"It's...it's um. Hm. Sometimes you're different lately, and it's weird," he says. Bacta drops down beside Tamlin in a crouch.

 

"Sorry, I'm...I don't quite follow."

 

Tamlin huffs.

 

"I mean you're not you, Uncle Bacta, except when you are. It's...I don't know it's just weird!"

 

Bacta shakes his head.

 

"Tamlin, remember your words. I'm always me, so I'm not sure what you're saying."

 

"No, you're not!" he huffs, frustrated. Whatever he's trying to tell Bacta, he's missing the vocabulary or context for. Bacta rests a hand on Tamlin's back and rubs it soothingly.

 

"Hey, hey, I'm right next to you, you don't need to yell."

 

"But you...you don't...," he sniffles. His cheeks are flush with an embarassed blush.

 

"No, I do! I've just been kind of quiet sometimes, yeah?"

 

"Yeah, I guess," Tamlin responds, eyes downcast.

 

"I hurt my head when I fell. Sometimes that takes some time to recover from, and it can affect your brain. I'll be okay soon. Just bear with me, okay buddy?"

 

"Okay," the child mumbles.

 

\----

 

**_I understand that. I'm just being cautious. Given the attitude of some of your shipmates, I don't think you can really fault me there._ **

 

**That's a fair point, I think. Tryst can be...a lot. As can Leenik. Lyn is honestly the most normal of all of us. But Tamlin's safe. I promise.**

 

\----

Lyn brings them down to the dead drop where they're supposed to pick up some supplies. The boys hide the Mynock well enough, and settle in for some surveillance.

 

Sian doesn't sequester herself to rest for a long while.

 

Instead, she watches the horizon like a shriek-hawk. Something in her gut is uneasy. While she can't acccess the Force here, she feels secure in her hunch when Tamlin pipes up repeatedly at how "weird" everything feels.

 

Tryst turns from where he and Leenik and Lyn are disguising the ship.

 

"Kid, I swear, you need to learn a different word, because 'weird' is getting old. Do we have to pick up a thesaurus for you or something?"

 

"I'm suprised you know what a thesaurus is, actually, all things considered," Leenik rejoins. Tryst levels a glare.

 

"But it does! It feels weird!" Tamlin says, stomping his foot indignantly. Sian drops down into a crouch next to Tamlin.

 

"You have a bad feeling about something, right?" she asks. She's getting better at the accent. Tamlin nods.

 

"In like a Force-thing way?

 

"I don't...I don't think so. Maybe."

 

"We'll keep an extra eye out, just in case. Okay?"

 

"Okay."

\----

 

**_If you're there, I have no doubt. But these people - if I am to be you, if just for short moments, what should I know?_ **

 

\----

  
Bacta sighs. Still a tactian, still practical. It takes some thinking, because he's not even sure what will get through now. So much of what he wants to explain requires a context that he's not sure she'll even believe. He manages to tell her that he met both on an outer rim world, the same day he met Tamlin's mother.

 

There was a fight. They won it. They helped a lot of people. He keeps everything vague, for fear that somehow, someone is monitoring them.

 

He fills her in the best he can on personalities, but he won't go into histories. He can't. That may not be safe. He tells her that Lyn is a professor, that Leenik is sometimes still a bounty hunter, that Tryst is a smuggler. That the dog on board is really quite well behaved, mostly.

 

It's hard to tell when he can only see her words written out on the page. He thinks she understands, and that she's trying her best.

 

Sian's next message is frantic, hastily scribbled across pieces of flimsi.

 

**_Tryst keeps mentioning an Empire. I thought he meant some well-connected Hutt or the government of some species I hadn't met. We just nearly lost Leenik after a run in with some heavily armored troopers, but they didn't look like any Clone outfits I've seen. Bacta, how did you meet these people? I mean, how did you really start running together? Did you meet them when you deserted?_ **

 

**I didn't desert the Republic! I...I just. Look, there's...there's so much I wish I knew how to say. I don't know what I can say.**

 

\----

 

They were nearly to the dead-drop when a troop transport had landed. A sizable number of troopers in an armor design that Sian had never seen before emerged onto the planet's surface, led by a human officer in an olive green uniform.

 

Sian had promised Tamlin extra vigilance, which in the end, was probably what had saved their skins. Even without her connection to the Force, Sian had learned how to command troops and how to spot weaknesses.

 

It still felt like it had taken an eternity for the retreat back to the Mynock. For the first time, Sian saw Tryst's lazy demeanor fall away. He drew both blasters, and aimed right for the officer who had spotted them. Almost immediately, the officer went down.

 

She had heard Lyn's voice crackle over the comms from the sniping position she'd taken up. Her voice was frantic as she tries to direct the crew out of her line of sight on several troopers.

 

She'd seen Leenik draw his vibro-sword with a practiced ease as he moved into a fighting stance. He had quietly ushered Tony to stay with Tamlin before moving into the fray.

 

Tamlin had been hunkered down next to Sian. His face was set in a concerned glare; an unsettling look on so young a face. Sian had drawn Bacta's blasters, readying to fight.

 

"Remember where a--Uncle Lyn stayed behind at, Tamlin?" she had asked, not looking away from the crowd in front of them.

 

"Yeah."

 

"You go back as close to there as you can, buddy. And you wait for us," Sian bit out.

 

"But I --"

 

"Take Tony," she said, and looked sternly at Tamlin, "and fall back to the ship. Okay?"

 

Tamlin had nodded sharply, and reached out for the vornskyr. Tony had tried to bound in after Leenik, but at Tamlin's touch, he had stopped. The two had disappeared into surrounding buildings, weaving their way through back-alleys.

 

The rest of the day had moved in slow motion. The orders were out of her mouth before she could think. Still in Bacta's distinctive accent, which she almost forgets to affect.  
Danger or no, she's still not sure how to explain any of this.

 

It had taken a punishing hour, and several close calls (shattered buildings, missed shots, and too many frag grenades), but they had been able to slip the presence of these troopers.

 

They'd stumbled back into the Mynock, exhausted. Sian helped dress Leenik's wounds, and tried not to think of how sickly pale he seemed. Or of how badly Tryst's leg had been broken and how strange it felt when all the humor was gone from his voice.

 

Or of how Lyn kept glancing back at Tamlin.

 

Or of how Tamlin had just stayed looking out the front window of the ship, with a stare that she'd seen more often on someone ten times his age. Her heart breaks a little at the sight of it.

 

At the end of this day, Sian dashes off her frustration, and demands an answer. She drifts out, and back into consciousness, but she's still on the Mynock. She sees Bacta's harried response. It wavers and seems to refocus.

 

She scrawls one word on the piece of flimsi.

**_Try._ **


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in which there is a reunion, of a sort)

* * *

 

 

There are two days that pass without rest for Sian. She meets with Clone proctors, talks with the Kaminoans. When she tries to rest, sleep eludes her grasp. She settles for meditation instead. Thoughts still buzz in her brain, and she cannot will away her concern for the Mynock crew, no matter how she tries.

 

The younglings are due to arrive in three days.

 

She and Commander Synox brief her men on what to expect and what they're expected to do on this rotation in Kamino. It's an easy, nostalgic trip, and most of the men are grateful for the break from the front lines.

 

They still drill each morning like the war is right at their heels.

 

Sian walks the hallways to calm her thoughts. She feels the sense memory of the uneasy quiet of the Mynock like an electric buzz around the crown of her head. Her shoulders feel too tight, like the muscles of her back are winding tight. Like she's anticipating a fight.

 

It's en route to another meeting that she runs into Lieutenant Bacta. He's in the midst of talking to one of the younger cadets when he calls Sian over. She tries not to visibly startle, though for a moment she isn't quite sure why. A heavy pit of anxiety nestles itself into her chest. She knows that asking this Bacta for answers is fruitless. So she greets her lieutenant and the cadet. The cadet looks at her, wide-eyed.

 

"Are you really a Jedi? Like Master Shaak-Ti?" he asks. She nods affirmatively. The child looks at her with a sense of wonderment. Sian notices Bacta's soft smile at the child's awe.

 

Eventually, Sian has to be on her way. The child salutes her, and she really does have to stop herself from laughing as she watches Bacta correct the child's form with great care. It's sweet.

 

"I'm excited to help keep the galaxy a free and just place for everyone!" the child chirps.

 

Sian goes to sleep with a sour feeling in her gut.

 

\--

Bacta stares at the word _**Try**_ through sleep-bleary eyes, and flounders for a response. His heart sinks in his chest. This is his chance to save her. To rectify his biggest failure. He writes and rewrites, and nothing seems sufficent. He sits and thinks for a long moment, and types out his best effort. It still doesn't seem good enough.

 

It is late on Kamino, but Bacta is restless. He is restless because the people around him are restless. It's a recursive restlessness loop. He pads over to a quiet corner of Sian's room, sits on the floor, and settles into a comfortable position. He closes his eyes, concentrates on his breathing, and begins to meditate. The soft chatter of emotion drifts away. It settles him enough so that he drifts off to sleep relatively quickly.

 

This time, he doesn't find himself back on the Mynock. Instead, he drifts in the vastness of space, and the quiet is comforting. He lets thoughts come and go as best as he is able. Distantly, he hears the soft coo of a bird.

 

After a long moment, or perhaps a second, the inky black around him shifts and flutters. Instead of the expanse of space, he's standing by the cockpit of the Mynock.

 

It's quiet. There's no hum of the engines, no quiet whirr of life support going. Bacta surveys his surroundings. Everything looks familiar. It looks like home. A pang of sadness thrums through his heart.

 

An eternity passes, or maybe only a minute, and the scene shifts again. He's standing at the crest of a large hill that looks down on a sloping valley. There are some buildings in the distance that complement the surrounding terrain.

 

He knows this place. This is a moon in the Bodgen system. He'd been here with Sian before. There's a Jedi training facility, which is likely what he's seeing in the distance. A gentle breeze is blowing.

 

All at once, Bacta realizes that he is not alone on this hill. He turns his head to scan his surroundings, and his heart catches in his throat. He cannot make himself move, or speak.

 

Sian Jeisel stands across from him, similarly frozen in place. Her eyes are wide. She looks just as she did the day he left Kamino for good.

 

"Bacta," she says, her voice is full of concern, "it's you."

 

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

 

"Hi," is all he can manage. It rasps from his throat, as if he hasn't spoken in a thousand years. Sian moves a few steps closer.

 

"Where are we?"

 

"I think it's Bodgen 3, given those buildings over there," and here Bacta points towards the horizon, "they look like the training facility we visited when I'd first come under your command."

 

It's so much easier to talk when it's nonsense that isn't important, he thinks.

 

"Huh," comes Sian's reply. She glances towards the horizon before looking back at Bacta. He meets her gaze, and his heart lurches only a little. Sian steps closer, and Bacta finally finds it in himself to move.

 

"You look so much older. Bacta, how long as it been since you...you've seen me?"

 

She is venturing an educated guess. Something has happened and she is no longer around. She thinks back to the tattoo on his chest, and her lightsaber resting in a hidden place in his gunnery.

 

She does not want to consider what this means.

 

Bacta sighs. He can't seem to meet her gaze. He looks literally anywhere else as he responds to her.

 

"I...I don't...it's been five years, I think. Kriff, I really should know, right? It's..it's been busy," he rubs at the nape of his neck sheepishly. He finally locks eyes with her. There is a sadness there that spikes a cool, deep heartbreak deep in Sian's chest.

 

"I never thought I'd see you again. I thought I was dreaming. Still mostly convinced that I am, honestly."

 

Sian knows that Bacta is seeking some kind of comfort. She wants to give it to him, but she needs answers. He is a soldier under her command, yes, but he is also an important person to her. But she cannot give him the comfort he is seeking. Something big has happened, Bacta is on the run (with a Force-sensitive child, no less), and she....

 

well.

 

She closes the gap between them, and gently grabs hold of Bacta's wrists. She cradles his hands in her own. Bacta gasps softly at the contact, as if he didn't expect it to be real. He stares at her hands cupped around his own for a long, terrible moment.

 

It's only when Sian starts to speak that he looks up.

 

"Bacta, I don't know what you're not telling me, but please. I need to know. You're taking lesai, there is a Force-sensitive child on your ship, not to mention the dog, and the lizards, and bounty hunters on your tail. Your crew nearly died and we barely got out because I had no clue what was going on."

 

"Sian, I...,"

 

"Please, just stop. I know you better than this. You would not leave people in danger if you had a way to keep them safe. So please, Bacta, I'm asking, just tell me. Tell me the truth."

 

Playing to his propensity to keep people safe is slightly cruel, she knows. She can see it in the way he winces when she mentions it. If it stops him being dodgy, if it gets her an answer, well, she can apologize later.

 

He pulls away from her hands. She lets go. He looks at her, and the horizon, and back. It takes Bacta a very long moment before he speaks again. When he does, it's slow, and halting. It's like each word physically hurts him.

 

"There is going to be a day where the Republic falls. It will happen faster than anyone realizes, and the Jedi will not be able to stop it. The Jedi can't act because," Bacta pauses.

 

The pause stretches an eternity. Sian thinks she can guess the rest of the sentence, but she allows Bacta to press on. He does, but his voice wavers.

 

"My brothers kill them. There was some kind of subconscious trigger and I fought back but I," Bacta's voice breaks, "...I'm sorry, Sian I can't, I can't..."

 

He feels tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He fights them back.

 

Sian takes in the news. She isn't surprised to hear that the Republic is bound to fall, but the speed at which it apparently will, and the violence with which it will is unwelcome. A question filters through the shock. She steps next to Bacta again, and rests a hand on his shoulder.

 

Off in the distance, the horizon line wavers.

 

"Bacta," she says, slowly. He looks at her, and her heart hurts. He has always been a man who has felt every loss keenly. What has he lost in the past five years that has hurt him this much?

 

"Bacta, you said the Clones eliminate the Jedi. Did you...how did you fight back? I don't understand."

 

He looks at her, eyes threatening to spill tears. He turns so he can really look at her. He is trying to keep his voice steady but it proves too much.

 

"I fought back because I had something stronger. I had my faith in you, Sian. I," and here his voice is quiet, almost a whisper. It rasps from his throat.

 

"...I loved you," he says, and closes his eyes to will away the tears that are pooling at the corners of his eyes. An eternity passes between them. Bacta takes a deep breath, and continues on.

 

"I love you. I'm so sorry, I couldn't, I...I..."

 

The valley is fading back into stardust, but neither of them notice.

 

Sian reaches up to gently cup Bacta's face. Several tears spill and trace their way down his cheek. She wipes them away. She has always known he harbored at least some small infatuation with her, but he'd never acted upon it. It had just been a constant, warm feeling.

 

It was nice. It was comfortable. It still radiates from him now, but it's smaller. It flutters in her perception when he looks at her.

 

She may not be sure how she feels here in this moment (there is so much that complicates it), but she knows this has been hard for Bacta.

 

This may be the most difficult thing he's ever done.

 

"There's no shame in affection or trust, Bacta. You have a kind heart, and you feel things very strongly. I have always thought that easy affection, that desire to protect, that it was a strength of yours. You are someone who is made even stronger because of the bonds you make with other people."

 

Bacta tries to shake his head, but she does not let him. The world around them is stardust now. After a moment, Bacta leans heavy into Sian. He goes to press their foreheads together, wanting for some kind of contact, but meets only empty air.

 

Sian is gone.

 

\--

Sian wakes up. She is in her quarters on Kamino. The younglings will arrive in two days, and she has a conference meeting with several other masters.

 

She tries to think of her dream, but it slips through her fingers. It's like trying to catch smoke. She remembers seeing Bacta's face, full of panic and sadness. She can't remember the words he'd been saying. Sian feels, for some reason, a great swell of concern and hurt, deep in her chest.

 

It takes a long moment before she reaches for her datapad.

 

**Sian. I. I don't ----------- explain --. There's ------- turn my brothers against -----Republic --- Jedi ---younglings away ---I'm able to fight it because of you --- Sian, I ---**

 

She stares at Bacta's message, only half legible. The more she looks at the message he's left, the more the words smudge on the screen and find themselves replaced with random characters.

 

She makes out bits and pieces of it; something centering on the Clones, and something that will happen soon. She sees the word younglings, but the rest of the paragraph is a jumble of letters and symbols that don't make any sense. There's a sense of urgency in what words she can see, and it spikes a rush of anxiety in her heart.

 

She meditates to calm her uneasy mind. The day progresses as normal. When she is able to sleep, she types a quick response.

 

**_I don't understand._ **

 

When Sian wakes up, she's still in her own bed. She grabs the datapad out of habit, and there's Bacta's previous messages and her own. The cursor blinks lazily back at her. She stares at it, but the harder she looks, the less sense the words make.

 

They shift around and, eventually, fade.

 

She doesn't wake up in the Mynock again, after that.

\--

When Bacta wakes up, he's in his gunnery, still. Everything is as he left it as he drifted off. He sees his own handwriting across the sheets of flimsi that someone had gathered up. Sian's handwriting is threaded in-between his own.

 

He stares at it, searching for an answer, but finds nothing. The harder he looks, the more her words seem to disappear. Bacta kicks at the wall in frustration and anger. His tin of lesai clatters from its resting place, and he manages to catch it before it falls out of the gunnery.

 

He doesn't wake again on Kamino, after that. Instead, Bacta buries his head in his hands, and wills away the hot tears that threaten to spill.

 

It doesn't work.

 

Bacta climbs down from the gunnery. He finds a place where he can hook his knees over a bar, and begins to do sit-ups. He counts each rep in sets of twenty until his mind is clear and empty of all thought.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

 

 

In the end, the half-remembered warning is what saves her life.

 

The day the Empire rises, the younglings are on their second day of a visit to Kamino. They're watching several young cadets work through their drills. The day is, by all accounts, proceeding as planned. The Jedi accompanying the children watch the goings-on with a quiet disinterest.

 

One of the older Troopers is in the midst of a lecture about the day's plans - weapons maintainance lectures, leadership training, and so forth.

 

She doesn't remember when the firing started. She remembers the other Jedi stepping forward to protect the younglings, trying to escort them out of the room and away to various horrifying degrees of success.

 

She remembers looking over at Bacta, whose hand is at his side. He's reaching for his pistol, but there's a pained look on his face when he looks back at her. His hands are shaking.

 

She grabs him by the wrist, and bolts for the door. Blaster fire whizzes through the air, leaving scorching along the frame of the door. They run down a maze of hallways, trying to seek shelter. They find an alcove and duck inside. Sian's heart is hammering inside her chest.

 

Sian can sense the panic rising in Bacta as she sees his mind begin to race. The thunder of footsteps passes by the small nook they've managed to hide in. When Bacta is sure their pursuers have gone, he starts to speak the beginnings of a plan (because hoping for explanation in the first moments of a battle is a fool's errand).

 

Sian waves dismissively in the air. Bacta continues to chatter.

 

"Bacta," she says, and then again, more firmly, "Bacta!"

 

He pauses mid-word, and looks positively lost. Anxiety is rolling off of him in sharp, dissonant waves. She can tell that his mind is racing.

 

"Sian?"

 

His voice is so quiet. Sian swallows her own fear.

 

"I need you to listen to me," she says, very slowly and deliberately.

 

Bacta looks back down the hallway they'd just come down. Another acrid spike of fear. His thoughts won't settle. It ripples through his whole person. She feels a great swell of something bittersweet at the sight of this, and she can't seem to place why. She needs to refocus Bacta. So she does something unexpected.

 

She places a hand beneath Bacta's chin, and tilts his head gently. Sian considers him for a moment. He really is a handsome man, with a kind soul. He deserves better than the Republic can ever give him.

 

Before he has time to react, she presses her lips to his. The warm ache of his affection shimmers around her, and all at once she feels that feeling crystallize. It shines like a high, sharp note and

 

oh. _Oh._

 

The force of Bacta's affection nearly makes her head spin and her heart lurch. Bacta makes a surprised noise and does not move for a long moment. She feels him relax slightly, and a hand comes up to cup the side of her face. His thumb strokes against the surface of her cheek with a nearly holy reverence.

 

In this small act, she truly understands. He loves her. Has always loved her. Perhaps always will. She thinks back to the Bacta on the Mynock, and her image on his chest. Her lightsaber hidden away in his gunnery. The thoughts seem hazy and dream-like. They flit like gossamer across her mind, and she silently hopes.

 

She does not know if the Force will grant her this boon, but she prays that it will. Her vigilance saved his crew. Now his warning will save her.

 

When Sian draws back for a breath, Bacta only drops his hand to his side. He is wide-eyed, and his heart is thrumming with a raw edge of confusion and hurt.

 

"I need you to get the younglings off planet. Can you do that?" she says.

 

"I....," he starts. He wants to ask.

 

"Lieutenant, can you get those children to safety?" she says, repeating herself. Bacta flounders for a moment, before he takes a deep breath and straightens his posture.

 

"Yes ma'am. But you...."

 

"I will find my own way out. Go."

 

Bacta stands stock still.

 

"Go!" she says, and dashes back the way they came. The rest of her fight is a blur; she loses track of how many men she throws out of her way, and how many she takes down with her lightsaber. She feels every landed blaster shot, and the further forward she fights, the heavier her limbs feel.

 

In one great arcing swing, she whirls around and takes out a support column to the room she is in. The ceiling tumbles inward, crushing the men surrounding her. Her lightsaber clatters from her hand as a piece of the ceiling collides with her wrist. Sian watches as her saber is buried under the ruined structure.

 

Rain pours in, muddling the pools of blood that eke out from beneath the debris.

 

Sian takes a shuddering breath, and reaches out with the Force. She can feel Bacta, hovering near the shuttle pad. His signature in the Force is electric with panic, but warm.

 

There are younglings behind him, their signatures crackling with anxiety and panic.

 

And then Synox. He shines a steady, cold determination through the Force.

 

Sian tries to maintain this reach, but everything in her hurts. She will survive, but she has to keep herself concealed and safe. Somehow Bacta had managed to reach through time to warn her, and she was not going to waste this chance.

 

So she pulls her awareness back, and centers it inward. She will make it out of this, and if Bacta survives, perhaps one day she can thank him.

 

He is a good man, she thinks. He is a selfless man, she thinks.

 

And he is much stronger than he knows.

 

Sounds become distant as Sian starts to fade from consciousness. There's only the soft patter of rain - no clattering of plastoid armor against itself, no one shuffling down a hallway to check this room.

 

She reaches out as she drifts, and feels the warmth of Bacta's signature as the shuttle zooms away from the base, and presumably out into the stars.

 

It's a soft, comfortable warmth that nestles itself into her chest. She holds that feeling there as she slips into unconsciousness.

 

When the chaos has died down, and when cleanup has begun, it takes several hours before troopers find the collapsed room. By the time they move the debris and the bodies, the only trace of Sian Jeisel that remains is her lightsaber.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in which the story draws to a close, & I slip in a tiny tiny mbmbam reference)

* * *

 

 

It takes the entirety of the crew of the Mynock much longer than usual to gather themselves together that next morning.

 

"Can't I just sleep? Tamlin gets to just sleep," Leenik asks as Bacta cleans & debrides his wounds. Bacta does not wince at the sight of the blaster burn wounds. He's seen much worse on the battlefield.

 

"No. Tamlin's a growing boy, and needs his sleep. We, however, have to call the Crystals. Lyn's setting up the call right now," Bacta responds, smoothing a clean bandage against the juncture of Leenik's neck. He presses gingerly, careful not to press down on the wound itself. He wonders if Sian patched Leenik up, and how she reacted at the sight of this.

 

She couldn't have, she's dead, his brain helpfully supplies, you were dreaming. You patched him up, you know. You just forgot, because of your concussion.

 

Didn't feel like dreaming he argues back. Leenik is staring.

 

"Huh? What is it?"

 

"I said, you don't really need me there for that, do you? I'm just...I'm tired, Bacta."

 

Bacta knows. Leenik is a sickly pale shade of green, and even the shine of his eyes seems less. He's not quite hunched over, but the whole of his posture telegraphs his feelings.

 

"I know, Leenik, but we all have to be there. We agreed on it, remember?"

 

Leenik mutters something about clipboards and protocol under his breath, but he doesn't argue back. The door to the main room slides open, and there's a soft 'ka-thunk' as Tryst makes his way across the floor. The makeshift boot on his bad leg has immobilized what it can, but there's no mistaking the wince of pain as the gunslinger takes each step. He pours himself a cup of caf and leans heavy against the wall.

 

"Can we please, never ever ever, never ever, do that again?" he asks, "That was, no exaggeration, Murder Ball plan retrieval included, the worst and most dangerous situation we've literally ever been in."

 

"Tryst, we're fugitives from the Empire. I don't know what kind of welcome you were expecting."

 

"I was expecting not to find any welcome at all! Because that was a boring planet full of boring people! Hell, the only way we made it out is because you noticed the transport landing before they ever noticed us. I hate to say this, but if you hadn't called the shots you did? We'd probably be dead."

 

"He's right. A few steps too far and I'd have taken the blaster fire in the chest instead of my shoulder," Leenik adds.

 

Well, that's something, isn't it?, Bacta thinks and his heart aches only a little to think it, she managed to save me again.

 

"I'm glad you listened," is what he says aloud.

 

All three of them make their way to the cockpit, with Tryst claiming the seat. They don't both with a tableau this time - they're too tired. The communications line makes several different tones, and then Zara Zoicite's face fills the holo-screen. She's smiling a half-smirk sort of smile. When she sees Lyn, she winks.

 

Lyn pointedly looks away. Bacta doesn't ask.

 

"Well, don't you all look like you've just seen the bad end of a dianoga?" she says, "I didn't think a supply drop would cause you that much trouble."

 

"The drop was compromised," Bacta bites out, "there were troopers there. Did you know this?"

 

The smile drops from Zara's face.

 

"Are you quite certain?"

 

Tryst lifts his broken leg and points to the broken shin.

 

"Do you think I did this to myself? Or that Leenik shot himself in the shoulder?"

 

"You three have done some pretty stupid stuff, but no. I don't think you injured yourself completing a simple supply run. Not if Lyn's with you," Zara responds. After a moment of contemplation, Zara's face lights up with a sharp realization.

 

"Ah. There appears to be some cracks in our armor here. I think I know precisely where this information could have leaked from. I thank you for helping us find this and...well, I am sorry you were hurt."

 

"That's it? We're supposed to still trust you?" Tryst asks.

 

"Have we ever given you a reason not to trust us?"

 

"Well, I mean. Yes? No? No, it's no, isn't it?"

 

"Precisely. Those supplies weren't of great value - just some small agricultural things. A frustrating loss, but not something terribly important."

 

Bacta arcs an eyebrow.

 

"You would have had us risk our lives to deliver...farm equipment?"

 

"You've done more for less," Zara responds. She isn't wrong, so he shuts up.

 

\---

The call concludes fairly quickly, and soon it's just Lyn and Bacta lingering in the cockpit. They sit in a companionable silence for a long time.

 

"Are you alright, Bacta?" Lyn ventures, after a fashion. Bacta looks up from the medical datapad he's been studying.

 

"I'm fine," he answers, "it's just been a rough few weeks."

 

Lyn just shrugs.

 

"I suppose. You've just seemed...off, sometimes."

 

Bacta puts the datapad down on the console. Outside, the dark soundless velvet of space wraps around them.

 

"Really. I'm alright now. I had a concussion, and it's better."

 

"I...see."

 

"You don't think I'm being honest?"

 

"I didn't say that, Bacta. If you don't want to talk about it that's fi--"

 

He cuts her off.

 

"There's nothing to talk about."

 

She gives him a knowing look, and he sighs.

 

"I just....hrm. Have you ever had one of those nightmares where you relive the worst day of your life? And not just exactly how it happened, but with the knowledge you have now? And you know how to fix everything and you could prevent something awful but you just...you can't...you can't make yourself do the thing? Or you...you try, but it still fails?"

 

Lynn nods, and Bacta's heart is a little heavier.

 

"After I struck my head I just...I thought a lot about the worst day of my life. And I got something akin to that kind of nightmare."

"But you don't sleep?"

 

"I'm aware. It's...it's hard to explain."

 

"Hm," is all Lyn says. She's never been one to push him too hard for answers, aside from their first meeting. She seems to understand that sometimes, words are still too much to ask for. Everyone on the ship is haunted by their past in some fashion, Bacta knows.

 

His ghost just happened to come calling again.

 

Part of him hopes that she lived, but the practical part of his brain screams logic. She was one person facing down too many of his brothers. The part that hopes reminds him that she was a very skilled fighter. She didn't need anyone to save her, not before and perhaps not on Kamino, either. That blaming himself for taking the time to deal with Synox -

 

a blaster bolt straight to his eye, the hiss of melting plastoid armor, the smell of burning hair & the way Synox screamed, the hot burn of the blaster bolt across Bacta's own scalp -

 

was foolish, because she was the strongest person he knew. Even outnumbered. She could have found a way to survive. His presence may have helped, but then the younglings wouldn't have been safe.

 

Bacta thinks back to the number on his communicator. To her voice, disinterested and impersonal as it rang down the line. To his own panic and the frustration in her voice as the line went dead.

 

It feels a little foolish to hope. But everything he's done in the past five years has been built on hope, so perhaps it isn't that foolhardy.

 

After an unusually productive debrief, the consensus of the crew is that they need a few days to rest that isn't them jumping through hyperspace. There's a restlessness in them all that comes with injury and stress.

 

They find a relatively calm planet, with a sparse local population. The weather is calm as they set down by the edge of a lake. Slowly, clumsily, the humor comes back. They begin to joke with one another again. Tryst puts on what he calls 'perfect beach music', which turns out to just be his collection of Jiminy Buffeto music.

 

Tamlin putters around with Tony, and it warms Bacta's heart to see the boy smile again as he plays with the vornskyr. For once, he gets to just be a kid. It's something so rarely afforded to him.

 

As twilight dwindles, it's up to Bacta to put a very tired Tamlin to bed. The five year old is a ways from the ship, but still within visual distance. Bacta makes his way over to the copse of trees that Tamlin's sitting by. He scoops the boy up with his uninjured arm, despite the small Zabrak's protests.

 

" 'm not sleepy yet! Uncle Bacta, come on! It's vacation, why do I have to have a bedtime?" he pouts. Bacta shakes his head.

 

"You're a growing boy, buddy, and you need all your sleep."

 

"Nu-uh!"

 

Tamlin pulls back and stares at Bacta. His face scrunches up in concentration, as if he's trying for some kind of Force thing. Bacta just gently jostles Tamlin to disrupt that concentration.

 

"Yeah you do. Come on, let's go."

 

Tamlin continues to whine, but Bacta ignores it. There's a strange comfort in this sort of banal, normal interaction. As Bacta walks back towards the Mynock, he hears a soft, familiar sound. He looks back to see a convoree. It seems to be fixing him with a look, but then it goes (presumably) back to preening. The coloring isn't one he's seen before - a soft green and gold - but he's also not paid attention to much wildlife in a while.

 

He shrugs, and walks back to the Mynock. By the time he's reached the ship, Tamlin's asleep. Once Tamlin's tucked securely into bed, Bacta ventures back out to watch the single sun set. Dusk paints the sky a multitude of muted colors.

 

Tryst and Leenik are singing along with some song about 'ship drinks', or at least attempting to. Tryst is trying to make some kind of mashed up version with a similar sounding song, but it's not quite working. Leenik keeps restarting the song. Lyn is laughing at them.

 

He takes a deep breath and smiles. For a little while, at least, they're safe.

 

They stay there for several days, which does wonders for morale, and soon the whole crew is back to their version of normal. In time, Bacta remembers less and less of the time he swore he spent in Sian's body.

 

Eventually, it feels more like a hazy dream than anything else. For a while, Bacta stares at his own handwriting on sheets of flimsi, but it all seems nonsensical. Eventually, he throws it out. Looking at it makes him anxious and uncomfortable, like he's not able to hold the idea of whatever is on the page in his mind.

 

Occasionally he still sees the number in his communicator. He's never added it to his own contacts, but he knows how he reached someone who could have been Sian. He knows that number by heart.

 

He knows if it was her, she's ditched that number by now. She was always practical.

 

It's long after everyone's wounds have healed, and long after they've traveled far from the systems the Crystals have directed them to when he thinks he sees her face. They've landed somewhere in the Outer Rim, on a planet that mainly serves to house weapons factories.

 

The glimpse he catches is fleeting, and by the time his brain has noticed the similarity, the person-who-could-be-Sian has disappeared into the crowd of the planet-side market. He wants to follow and his feet obey.

 

"And so we--hey! Where are you going?" Leenik yells after him, but Bacta's already gone. His footsteps are careful, and he keeps a steady distance. He watches the figure weave their way through winding streets, browsing at the stalls.

 

He almost gets a clear view of the person's face when his communicator beeps loud in his ear. Bacta almost blanches and gives himself away. Instead, he pretends to be interested in some under-ripe meiloorun.

 

"What?" he hisses as he lets the call connect.

 

"Where did you go? Leenik said you ran off, Mr.'We-have-to-stick-to-the-plan'," Tryst's voice echoes over the comm channel.

 

"I thought I caught sight of something off, had to follow it."

 

"Whatever. Just...get back here. We're a little pressed for time on that fuel run, you know."

 

"Yeah, yeah."

 

Bacta looks up, and his target is nowhere to be see. The vendor gives Bacta an expectant look.

 

In turn, Bacta offers an apology and moves to the next booth before turning back towards the square to rejoin his shipmates.

 

A deep sigh wells in his chest, and he lets it out. It couldn't have been Sian. Even if she had survived, she would have been worlds and systems away. He wasn't that lucky.

 

He keeps walking. Over the noise of the crowd, Bacta hears a flutter of wings. He thinks he sees a convoree, but it's just some local birds, fluttering down to peck at a rind of fruit that a vendor's helpfully discarded.

 

It's much later in the evening, after they've acquired their supplies and yet another job that keeps them far from Kamino (after all, they really do need to get D20 back), when Bacta's comm rings.

 

The others are still out - Lyn has taken Tamlin to procure some new clothing (he's a growing boy who isn't going to fit in those same robes forever), Tryst has disappeared to Force-knows-where, Leenik following behind. Bacta doesn't ask.

 

Bacta is in the midst of some menial task down by the cargo bay when the communicator beeps. It's sitting on a table, a good five feet from him. He reaches over to answer, but the number is unfamiliar. It is coming through on an encrypted frequency.

 

He hesitates for a moment before his mind helpfully supplies that this frequency is old, and unmonitored. It hasn't been used since the Clone Wars, and even then only rarely.

 

Hope kindles in his chest. It's a warm flutter, right between his ribs. Bacta accepts the call, but doesn't speak. For a long moment, all that he hears is the distant hum of crowd noise. It seems to stretch out for an eternity.

 

And then, a familiar, feminine voice. One he'd heard daily at drills, one he'd heard as they took meals together.

 

How could he ever forget her voice?

 

"Hey. I found my way out, all because of you," the voice says, "Thank you, my friend."

 

It's softer than he's ever heard her speak. His own words stick in his throat as he fumbles to say something, to say anything. He's terrified she's going to hang up and that will truly be the last of it.

 

The crowd noise continues in the background. He hears her sigh, just once, like she was expecting to hear something in response.

 

"You---you're welcome," he manages. There's a dreadful, awful silence that stretches on. Bacta is struggling for something else to say when he hears a knock echo from the ramp. It's still down, and there are still several crates resting at the foot of it on a hoverlift.

 

And she's there. She looks a little older, and her hair's different but the same strong blue eyes stare back at him.

 

Bacta's breath catches in his throat, and he's sure his heart skips a few beats.

 

"You know, I only made it out because of you, too," he says. His voice is soft, and it's still breaking.

 

"Well," she laughs, "how about that? We saved each other after all."

 

Bacta laughs.

 

"Yeah. How about that."

_**[fin]** _


End file.
